


Raw Sugar

by DotsAndStripes



Series: Sugar [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Famous Zayn, Female Character of Color, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tea, Zayn-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DotsAndStripes/pseuds/DotsAndStripes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie Adeng has fucked up her entire life in Toronto. After her mom passed away, she failed out of second year university, got put on academic probation, has pushed away most of her friends and spends most of her time working at TeaWorld.</p><p>So when her mom’s younger sister Aunt Wanda invites her to come to London, where incidentally they’ve opened a brand new Camden Market TeaWorld, she hops on a one way flight from Pearson to Heathrow. </p><p>A story about coping with loss, learning to be adventurous, friendship, life’s ups and downs, falling in love and peppermint tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Plenty of people dream of packing up a suitcase and leaving their home behind. Very few people are actually stupid enough to do that, but then again there’s me.

To be fair, it wasn't like I was leaving much behind in Toronto. After Mom passed away, I failed out of second year university because I could barely be bothered to show up to class, much less do assignments. I was on academic probation. I pushed most of my friends away and spent as much time as possible working at TeaWorld avoiding the tidy sum insurance had dropped in my savings.

So when my mom's younger sister Aunt Wanda had asked if I wanted to spend some time in London with her, I said yes. I asked to be transferred to TeaWorld’s brand new Camden Market location, took a year’s leave from my university, packed up my meager belongings into a storage locker and packed the rest into a suitcase.

“This is a lovely bone china set handcrafted by artisans in China. Each one is unique and hand painted with 14 karat gold--” I said to the elderly couple staring at the sales display at TeaWorld. I had nicknames for most customers back home and I decided this couple were “The Royals” because they looked so formal.

She wore a lavender skirt suit with a matching pillbox handbag and hat that wouldn’t go amiss in a church complete with a large black feather. He wore a dark tweed suit with a purple pocket square that matched his wife and a black felt hat. She clasped her husband at the crook of his elbow and they moved slowly but in sync. 

“Are you American?” the man interrupted. I always thought poorly of people who took offense to this question but after being asked constantly for the two weeks I’d been in this country, I was starting to as well.

“Canadian.” I smiled politely.

“Lovely country. I was in Nova Scotia in 1972...” Well, at least “The Royals” ended up buying the bone china set. A good sale for me.

This was hour nine of a ten hour shift, and I had been placed on the accessory sales floor again. I was exhausted. The counter I liked best. Weighing all the loose tea and putting it in patterned tins was soothing. The tea bar was fun during the morning and evening rush and you could play music while filling orders for to-go cups. There was nothing really good about accessory sales floor unless you liked harassing people into buying things and polishing shelves.

“Soph, did you want to wipe down the displays before cleanup?” called my store manager John from the back room. I cringed. It was only the two of us by five p.m. I’m not exactly sure what, if anything, that he did as Bess, the assistant manager did our scheduling, inventory and training and he stayed in the staff room unless there was a rush. He also liked to go out for a ten minute smoke break every thirty minutes.

I polished the shelves and ended up closing the cash registers, sweeping and mopping the floor and cleaning the washroom before going to the back room to clock out. John’s head was bent at an awkward angle and his greasy grey brown touched the screen as he texted furiously on his iPhone.

“Good night John.” He didn’t even look up.

I trekked my way to the station to get to my aunt’s place. It was brisk in the evenings even as the summer was still stretching into September. I shivered a little under my cardigan but it was early to be wearing a coat.

London felt overwhelming at times to navigate. Toronto had maybe three subway lines if we were being generous, but the Underground here seemed like a maze. I recited my route under my breath and spent most of the time watching the stops, with headphones clamped over my ears softly playing Tokyo Police Club just quietly enough I could hear the stops over the music.

When I got to Aunt Wanda’s, she was perched on the living room couch with her laptop. She looked like Mom, even with the six year gap between them. Petite, tawny skin like mine, mounds of loose black curls, even the silver metal framed glasses perched on her nose. But where Mom had been subdued, Aunt Wanda was wearing a yellow cardigan, striped black and white leggings, and a pink star wars shirt and had a glittery binder clip keeping her hair out of her face.

“This guy thinks that he should get unlimited revisions for two whole years after we built his website. For free. What the hell do I look like?” Aunt Wanda gestured at her laptop as if it was the offending party. Her accent was a little strange with what I thought of as BBC English layered over Ghanian-Canadian hybrid.  
She wheeled around on the couch to face me.

“Also, Sophie, you’ve been here for two weeks and have only left the house to go to work. I bet you haven’t even looked at the rest of Camden Market at all.”

“I don’t know...maybe I’ll go to France for a weekend by myself or something,” I squeaked. She snorted.

“Baby steps, love. Go out for a drink at least. I will show you around on the weekend. But you’re twenty, for fuck’s sake. Do some exploring.”

“I’ll try. Okay Auntie Wanda? I will try. It’s just hard. Even six months later it feels like nothing will ever be alright again. And I fucked everything else up.” I flopped down on the couch beside her. She reached over and took down my work bun, running the curls through her fingers and detangling gently.

“I know, sweetie. I really do,” she said.


	2. Chapter 2

I forced myself to go to work early so I could peek around the rest of the Market outside TeaWorld. It was a bit brisk out but more mild than it would have been in Toronto towards the end of September, grey skies notwithstanding. I found a blue nautical patterned silk scarf in one of the stalls that I decided to send back home to my friend Cassidy. She was one of the few people in Toronto that I missed; she had outright refused to go away when I tried to shut the world out and was still sending me rambling emails even when I didn’t always reply on time.

Luckily when I got to work there was no John. There was just the assistant manager Bess, myself and a girl named Vidya at the tea bar that I’d never worked with before. Vidya introduced herself and I mumbled in response. She had a shaved undercut, a huge decorative nose piercing that it probably against company code and wore all black underneath her purple TeaWorld apron. Her music at the tea bar was mostly classic rock. 

“Sophie? Go ahead and work at the counter today. You must have been on your feet the entire time yesterday on the floor,” Bess said. I liked her. Bess was a tall, pale curvy brunette who probably would be listed in the dictionary next to the term English rose. And that was besides the fact wore nothing but dresses and cardigans day in and out and an utterly serene expression on her face. She turned to me suddenly.

“Did you maybe want to go out after work? Vidya and I are meeting a few friends at Elephant’s Head. We’d love for you to come out with us.”

“That would be nice. Good. Great. “ I stuttered. She brightened immediately. I sent a text to my aunt to let her know I’d be out and she texted back.

From: Aunt Wanda, 13:12  
WONDERFUL!!! be safe xxx

Most of the rest of the day was boring. Vidya clocked out in the early afternoon promising to meet us outside after close. We were busy but Bess flitted around taking care of customers with practiced ease. 

Ten minutes until close as I wiped down the counter, with Bess counting the safe in the back room, a guy walked in while i was shimmying to Arcade Fire. I immediately dubbed him Mr. Handsome. He was probably one of the best looking men I’d seen in London, period. He was dressed simply, in a black v-neck and jeans and the kind of dark expensive looking leather lace-up boots that seemed to be popular with men here. He had the faintest hint of neat stubble tracing his jaw, stylishly cut black hair and looked put together in a way that seemed effortless. 

And then he smiled, and my heart did a little fluttering thing that had not happened to me since grade eleven.

“Could I have the largest tin you have of peppermint tea? It’s for me and my mates,” Mr. Handsome explained. I beamed.

“I love peppermint tea in the evening. I find it so relaxing. It reminds me of home,” I said to fill the silence as I scooped the loose peppermint leaves into a large tin.

“Really? Where’s home?” He asked kindly.

“Toronto in Canada, ” I replied. He smiled absently, texting on his phone.

He looked vaguely familiar, I thought. But I knew exactly no one but Aunt Wanda in England. Maybe he was a soccer player or something, but I couldn’t find a way to ask politely so I shut my mouth and rang him out.

“Have a great evening.”

“Thanks Sophie.” I stared after him in stunned silence until I remembered I was wearing a nametag.

x

Elephant’s Head pub was packed. Bess, Vidya and I were joined by one other TeaWorld employee named Katherine and three of Vidya’s university friends, Karim, Matthew and Christina. They all greeted me warmly and it reminded me of the way it had been with my own university friends before. 

“Drinks for the girls!” Matthew shouted and brought back a shot of tequila for everyone from the bar. Everyone whooped loudly as if on cue, but no one else in the pub paid us any mind. 

“Next round is on me,” I insisted. I bought a shot of Jagermeister for everyone and found myself laughing and cheering with them.

I got to know everyone a little better in between drinks. I learned that Bess was actually short for Beatrix and she had graduated with a culinary degree but had hated working in a kitchen. Vidya studied Film and English and had the filthiest sense of humour ever. Katherine was from Glasgow and trying to figure life out. Karim was studying chemistry, Matthew, international relations and Christina, sociology. Most of all, they were obviously close friends, but welcomed me with open arms, insisting on adding the number of my dinky little Nokia phone I’d bought at Heathrow.

Everyone asked questions too but didn’t pry. I told them that my mother had passed, I was living with my aunt, I was here for the year at least and what Toronto was like. They teased me good naturedly , mocking my accent and mistaking my shyness for the stereotypical Canadian politeness.

But as I stumbled into a cab home long after my phone had died, I felt a little better. A little lighter as if some of the hollowness I’d been carrying around had ebbed away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas are Krista, Ainee and Issy.  
> Catch me at dotsandstripesxo on Tumblr. Crossposted to 1DFF and Wattpad.


	3. Chapter 3

I had turned legal at age nineteen and puked once at a karaoke bar at Yonge and Steeles but never since. Until now. 

“You were sick on the front steps, my door, yourself, the front hallway and most of the loo. It’d be impressive if I didn’t have to clean it all up,” said my aunt with a hint of humour. 

“I’m sorry.” She was loud, I was nauseous and it was too bright outside. I thought England rained constantly. My room here was tiny, painted mint-green with only enough room for a small nightstand, twin bed and chest of drawers I couldn’t open all the way. I moaned and pulled the duvet over my head. 

“Nothing to be sorry about, but don’t think you’re staying indoors today. I had a whole day planned for you, did you forget?”

I knew Aunt Wanda wasn’t a spiteful human being but her peppiness seemed to specifically designed to annoy me. I clutched a coffee on the Underground while she detailed our itinerary which sounded like far too many things to be doing in a week, much less a weekend. She was wearing something I can only describe as the dress equivalent of an abstract painting with patterned tights and a sunhat. I, on the other hand, was wearing black leggings, and a grey tunic sweater and a scarf I wished I could hide in.

By the time I got to work Monday I had seen the British Museum, window shopped at Convent Garden, took a picture with a guard at Buckingham Palace and been to the Tower Bridge and went up on the Eye. I had a good time, despite myself. 

“Better than my weekend. Don’t hookup with your exes because they are probably still shit in bed,” Bess said on Monday afternoon. I snorted.

Vidya had been on the morning shift and I passed her on my way in as she left for lecture. She smiled and waved. For most the afternoon it was Bess, John and I so really it was just the two of of us. After Friday it seemed more like she had decided we were friends. While Bess was helpful and sweet with customers, she would lean over the counter and trade stories about TeaWorld.

“Do you reckon he might do us a favour and just stay home and stop pretending to work?” She asked after John’s fourth smoke break of the shift.

“I don’t understand what he does,” I replied.

“Well that’s coz he doesn’t fucking do anything, isn’t it?” We laughed but Bess helped me clean the store before close so I wouldn’t have to by myself with John.  
Ten minutes to close again and I heard the store bell ring over the band Stars blaring over the store speakers. “Welcome to TeaWorld! I’ll be with you in a minute.” I was just finishing up making myself a cup of rooibos chai with a splash of coconut milk to drink while I closed. 

I turned around, and there was Mr. Handsome, smiling. 

“What’s this then?” He gestured at the speakers.

“Oh, that’s Stars.” When he returned a puzzled look, “Canadian band. This song is called ‘The Night Starts Here.’”

"Do you only listen to Canadian music or something?" 

Pretty much. 

"No."

I almost went on a rant worthy of my quarter finished degree in Canadian Studies and Communications about the importance of local music in communities as a shared experience. But instead, I glared a little. He smirked back as if he knew exactly what I'd been thinking. 

“Well, Sophie, esteemed Canadian Cultural Ambassador, could I possibly get another large tin of peppermint?” He winked. 

“Of course.” What the hell had he done with the last one? That was enough tea for several months.

“And a large to-go cup of camomile,” he asked once I’d rung up the tin of tea. 

I shuffled over back to the tea bar. Most customers didn’t care how I made the tea as long as it was hot, the rest watched because they were interested in brewing techniques. He was watching me though. 

“Honey or sugar?” I asked.  
“A drizzle of honey if you wouldn’t mind.” He smiled again with this request.

I carefully measured camomile leaves into a small teapot and filled it with hot water from the dispenser. I set the timer to four minutes and he looked away, taking out a pen and and grabbing a napkin. I poured it in one of our purple paper cups and used three swirls of our wildflower honey before putting on the lid. 

“Here you go. It’s still hot so be careful.”

“Will do. Good night.” He left and I locked the door behind him. I noted with interest there was nice backside to go with the face. As I wiped down the tea counter I picked up a napkin and almost threw it out until I remembered he’d been writing on it. 

_I ordered tea because I didn’t know what to say to you. I think I’d like to get to know you better. Text me sometime?  
\- Zayn _

And below, in a careful but neat hand, a phone number. I folded it and stuck it in my jean pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas are Krista, Ainee and Issy.  
> Catch me at dotsandstripesxo on Tumblr. Crossposted to 1DFF and Wattpad.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day as I strode up to TeaWorld, the store was busier than I’d ever seen it – it was only a half hour since it had opened and there was a huge queue out the door. I had to push past a crowd that looked primarily composed of mothers and fathers with their tween and teen girls who all sent me dirty looks in return. 

“Excuse me, but we’ve been in line for the last hour,” one harried looking mother growled. 

“I work here. Please let me through.” I said through gritted teeth. She frowned but begrudgingly stepped out of my way. 

Every member of staff in TeaWorld was hurriedly working behind the main tea counter. John, Vidya, Bess, Katherine, a tiny Asian woman – she had a Welsh accent and I vaguely remember Bess referring to her as the regional manager on my first day – and at least three other people I’d never seen before were all busy filling and selling tins of tea to the masses. 

“Oh good! You’re here!” Vidya shrieked. 

“What the---” there were younger kids around so I self-censored. “What on earth is going on?” 

“Some tosspot pop star came here for tea and got photographed by the paps, so every female age eight to bloody forty in the Greater London area is trying to get here,” John answered. 

The next twelve hours would probably go down in history as the worst retail experience I’d ever had, including being a greeter at Walmart on Boxing Day. I filled up tin after tin of tea in dizzying amounts. Not a single person seemed to care what kind of tea they bought, as long as it was from the same store this pop star went to. There was no time to talk, let alone breathe behind the tightly packed counter. 

“We’re out of almost everything. I’m putting in a rush order. Fucking hell,” Bess said, flopping down beside me in the break room. 

“It’s tea, for crying out loud. Tea! Not a pair of his boxers!” Vidya chimed in. 

“We might not be able to open tomorrow. Answer your mobiles if I ring alright?” John informed us all. Sweat plastered his hair to forehead and large, dark rings were visible under his armpits. Poor guy. Probably the most work he’d done in his life. 

I walked with Vidya and Bess towards the Underground. The thought of going home and lying down was all I could think about. A headline caught my eye as we passed by the newspaper stand right beside the station entrance. “Teen Heartthrob Zayn Malik of 1D loves his tea.” In blurry but unmistakable profile is Mr. Handsome holding his cup of tea and one of our signature tea tins underneath one arm. I stopped dead in my tracks. 

“Vidya, Bess… Is he famous or something?” I asked, pointing at the stand. “Because, he, he came in the store the other day.” I already knew the answer but I needed to hear it out loud. 

Bess and Vidya exchanged a look. 

“It was you that served him then! We were wondering who wouldn’t have mentioned seeing Zayn motherfucking Malik in the store,” Bess exclaimed. 

“I mean, he’s very famous. I’m pretty sure One Direction tours in Canada. Is it a comfortable rock you live under, Soph?” Vidya teased. 

I mumbled something about not really listening to the radio, watching television or really even using the internet for anything but email and buying music. 

“This calls for a drink.” 

And so I got dragged to a dingy pub called the Old Eagle, and we all had a pint of Guinness and some food. When I got to the part about getting his number, Bess slammed down her glass so hard the table rocked. 

“Sell his number. Someone would definitely pay for that. Maybe even a tabloid?” Vidya said, ever the pragmatic one. 

“No, I‘m not going to sell his number. That would be wrong.” I bit my lip. 

“Too bad your phone is shit or you could send him nudes,” Bess said. 

“I am NOT sending him a picture of my bits!” I exclaimed. 

“Not your bits, just a little tit out of the shirt maybe,” Vidya mimed pulling her shirt down and I threw fry or chip or whatever it’s called at both of them. 

I was fairly drunk when I got in at two a.m. and was exhausted. Although I suspected it was a bad idea, I entered Zayn’s number into my Nokia and started a text. 

To: Zayn, 02:43   
_Hey it’s Sophie from TeaWorld._

Sent. Simple. I would probably get a response in the morning. But as I turned over to sleep, my phone vibrated on the nightstand. 

From: Zayn, 02:44   
_Sophie from TeaWorld of the Canadian TeaWorlds then? I like it. How are you?_

I texted slowly - trying not to seem so eager, but that was definitely a lie; my pulse was racing a little, my palms were sweaty. 

To: Zayn, 02:46   
_Sophie Adeng, actually. Good, I think. Question: what DID you do with all that peppermint tea?_

It wasn’t until morning that I saw his reply. 

From: Zayn, 03:00   
_It’s still in my cupboard. I just thought you were cute and wanted to come back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas are Krista, Ainee and Issy.  
> Catch me at dotsandstripesxo on Tumblr. Crossposted to 1DFF and Wattpad.


	5. Chapter 5

I had emailed Cassidy about meeting him and when I emailed her his name with the tabloid cover screenshot, she sent me back a string of unintelligible characters.

_Only you would go to London and make friends with a celeb. Tell Prince Harry I’d like to marry him. Though Harry Styles would be okay as well._

Zayn and I texted for the next week. I told him about how confusing I found London’s roadways and Underground and he told me about getting lost in Selfridges when he was nine and he came down to visit family. We kept to safe, mundane topics but kept up conversation almost constantly. He was equal parts witty and sweet. 

“It’s nice to see you being social even if you’re being secretive about some boy,” my aunt commented idly. I could feel my face getting hot.

“I’m not being secretive,” I mumbled. 

“You must believe I’ve never been twenty,” Aunt Wanda said, staring at her computer screen. I scurried away from the living room. 

At TeaWorld, I had gotten almost as bad as John with his smoke breaks, going to the back room to check my phone. I’d developed the terrible habit of grinning when I learned something new about Zayn. Though I’m sure I could’ve found out most of this through the internet, there was something nice about the give and take. After a week of this though I begun to want to see him to make sure this was all real.

To: Zayn, 17:44  
 _Want to hangout soon?_

From: Zayn, 18:23  
 _Trapped at the studio :( Let me figure out when my next break is._

He didn’t reply after that. 

In the meantime though, TeaWorld had slowed down to a normal pace and the switchover to Fall merchandise was tonight. All of the displays needed to be changed as well as most of the teas. Bess and Vidya pored over some of the texts.

“Well assuming you’ve not been texting some random saddo by accident, he seems to quite like you,” Vidya said as we unwrapped the new merchandise.

“I still think you should buy a phone where you don’t have to scroll to see your whole text message,” Bess said.

I scowled.

“Oh, you’re that kind of hipster that hates technology.” Vidya said, polishing the new teapots and putting them on display.

“Says the girl who own thirty pairs of high waisted black leggings and thinks any music made after 1979 is a sin,” I shot back. 

I shouldn’t have been so surprised when a piece of styrofoam hit me in the back of the head. Bess dropped the leaf outline window decal and started laughing and pretty soon we were all laughing madly, rolling around amongst packing boxes and industrial tape. 

I was the last to leave since I stayed behind to change over the labels on tins. My phone began to ring insistently.

“Hey Sophie, it’s Zayn.” His voice was smooth and warm even over the crackly connection.

“Um, hi. What’s up?” I said. For fuck’s sake, I sounded like I was thirteen again.

“Are you at home or at the store?” He asked. 

“I’m at the store. Just closing up. Why?”

He hung up. A minute later I heard pounding on the front door and there he was, with a faded maroon hoodie on to obscure his face, but there’s no mistaking that smile.

“I got some time away.”

I realized at this moment that we hadn’t spent that much time in person and I was tongue-tied and thankful for the shadowed store. 

“Oh hello.” I said. I looked around then registered no one was around to care if I stayed. “Come on to the back so security doesn’t think we’re thieves.”

He followed me to the staff room and sat on the end of the desk.

“Hope you don’t have anywhere to be,” Zayn said.

I shook my head no, unable to make my mouth work. I sat on the desk beside him leaving several inches of space but his body radiated heat. We chatted for a bit about all the things we had been talking about via text: his sisters, my aunt and long workdays. But something was bothering me. 

“Why didn’t you tell me who you are?” I blurted out. 

He looked at his fingernails, seemingly taken aback and a little bashful.

“Honestly, because it was obvious you had not a bloody clue who I was. It was refreshing,” Zayn said. “That was the first time in a while I went to go get something for myself because it’s not really a good idea anymore.”

“But you came to the store anyway?” I raised an eyebrow and he laughed.

“I was walking around because I needed the fresh air after being cooped up in the studio all day. I could tell the store was empty and closing. If you’d been a fan, I could’ve signed something, but I figured it’d be nice to do something normal for once,” Zayn said. 

“Sorry if you wanted normal today, you’re in the back room of a tea store with all of this crap.” I gestured at the motivational posters, stacks of half-filled order papers, cleaning supplies and a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Zayn laughed again and I began to find myself really liking that sound. He checked his watch and then swore.

“I have to head off. At the studio again in the morning. Can I drop you at home?” 

“Oh, my aunt lives in Kensington. You really don’t have to if it’s out your way.”

“I’ve kept you here for an hour already. It’s dark and I have a car,” he insisted.

On the drive to home, Zayn let me play songs off my iPod, seemingly delighted by my taste in music. 

“This bloke kind of sounds like---” He began as he pulled up to Aunt Wanda’s street. 

“Don’t say it--” I practically screeched.

“Morrissey.” 

“Not Morrissey! Never Morrissey! There’s a throwback to soul, gospel and jazz there. He does not sound like fucking Morrissey.” 

He laughed again, putting his hands up in surrender as he pulled in front of Aunt Wanda’s house. “Fine, fine, fine.”

Zayn leaned forward to peck me on the cheek. I could feel my whole face grow hot.

“Good night, Sophie.” 

“Good night, Zayn.” I managed, scrambling out of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas are Krista, Ainee and Issy.  
> Catch me at dotsandstripesxo on Tumblr. Crossposted to 1DFF and Wattpad.


	6. Chapter 6

Zayn came to visit after hours more often after that. I started checking my phone at the end of my shifts to see if he would call, though it was at best a couple times a week. I deliberately took most of the closing shifts, though no one really liked closing so no one seemed to mind. Even Vidya and Bess had changed their teasing about my famous boyfriend to my famous friend. 

“Sophie, can I ask you something?” Aunt Wanda said as I was digging through the fridge one October morning.

It had officially been two months since I had gotten here now. Co-existing with her had been interesting but worked well. I worked about five or six days a week, picked up groceries and cleaned after her. Aunt Wanda cooked and did both of our hair which was a chore in and of itself as we were both more hair than woman. 

“Yes, Auntie?”

“Are you seeing someone? You’ve been late more and more,” she said. She looked up from her computer and took off her glasses to look at me. She looked an awful lot like Mom in that instance, and there’s one thing my mom and I never shared.

“Nope,” I said nonchalantly.

“You can tell me things you know. I’m a cool auntie.” Her tone is half mocking, half sincere.

“Nothing’s going on.” I started walking back towards my room with my greek yogurt. 

“Don’t think I haven’t seen your contraceptive pills. Doesn’t protect you from STDs. Make sure you’re getting tested,” She shouted after me.

“Nope, we are not having this conversation,” I shouted back. I could hear her cackling triumphantly downstairs. 

But really, I was beginning to think that Zayn had no interest in me as anything more than a friend. Aside from pecks on the cheek if he dropped me off and a hug when I told him about Mom, he perfectly friendly and only vaguely flirty on occasion. 

This time, he wasn’t any different. 

“Are you from London?” I asked. Sometimes his accent shifted a little and it sounded more like Bess’ but I still couldn’t distinguish exactly what it was. 

“I’m here for most of this year. I normally tour and live at home away from the madness when I’m in England.” 

“Where does your family live?” We had avoided the topic thus far, but Zayn was opening up so I decided to ask as many questions as he would answer. 

“Bradford.” He saw my confusion. “It’s a four hour drive northeast of here. Kinda near Leeds? So I just started to rent a flat down here and my sisters and parents come visit.”

“Why are you here most of the year then? Just to record an album?”

“We’ve got six months for recording the album here in London and then four months off before we start another world tour. Everyone misses a normal routine at some point.” 

“You sing right?” I asked. Stupid question. I had actually listened to a few tracks and though it wasn’t my genre, I knew the moment I heard Zayn from the shivers I got. 

“You actually don’t know anything about One Direction? You’re not just having a laugh?” Zayn exclaimed.

“I don’t know! I don’t really pay attention to these things. Maybe you play the triangle.” I teased. 

“You’re seeing a guy for about a month, and you don’t even know what he does?” He teased. 

I froze up beside him on the staff room table and he tensed as well and stood up. 

“Um, unless you just wanted to be mates, coz it’s not really like we’ve been on a proper date or anything.”

Up until then I’d never seen Zayn ill at ease. He fidgeted with a string of beads around his wrist as I struggled with my next words. This last few minutes had been dizzying.

“I--I like spending time with you--” I began.

“You don’t have to--” Zayn began.

“I didn’t think you would--” I said

“I thought we were--” He said

And I turned him to face me, leaned forward on my tiptoes and cut him off with a kiss. It was quick and chaste though my lips burned hot just from touching his for a second. Zayn hesitated for a brief second then he pulled me against him and kissed me hard.

My God, the boy could kiss. 

He brought his hand up into my hair, tilting my head slightly to deepen the kiss. His stubble was doing nothing to help me tamp down my libido and I was pressing myself against him shamelessly. One of his hands left my hair and was on the bare stretch of skin between my jeans and top. When we finally came up for air, I looked at Zayn and blurted the most stupid thing I’ve probably ever said.

“We’re not ‘mates’, I think.”

And he laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas are Krista, Ainee and Issy.  
> Catch me at dotsandstripesxo on Tumblr. Crossposted to 1DFF and Wattpad.


	7. Chapter 7

To: Bess, Vidya 22:02  
 _We are officially not friends!!!_

From: Bess, 22:02  
 _DID YOU SHAG HIM_

From: Vidya, 22:04  
 _I thought he fancied you. I expect he has enough mates anyhow. You go girl! x_

From: Bess, 22:06  
 _Should have shagged him to make sure._

From: Bess, 22:06  
 _Not on the break room table, mind_

From: Vidya, 22:13  
 _Go out on a date!_

I didn’t have work on Saturday so I bounced around the house annoying my aunt while she tried to cook. I thought she might be trying to bribe me once I’d saw she went to the African specialty food store but she shooed me away from the bags. 

During the week we usually ate whatever Aunt Wanda could rustle up in between coding, making visits to the office and being on the phone. Usually tasty but haphazard.

Aunt Wanda set me to chopping onions, tomatoes and peppers while she told me about her week at work, and she trimmed meat from the butcher.

“But how are you doing? You made friends with those two girls from work,” Aunt Wanda said. I nodded.

She turned and smiled at me.

“I’m so happy you’re adjusting. I always wanted you over here, you know. Elizabeth never thought you’d like it though, then you had all those summer camps to go to,” Aunt Wanda continued. 

I remembered very well turning down trips to my aunt as a kid. I wanted to go to swimming lessons and the cottage with my friends, not flying to a strange place to spend time with a woman who I’d only ever spoken to on the phone monthly and seen a few times. 

My mother and her had had a difficult relationship. I remembered the whispers on the phone “You are so irresponsible,” “ You thinks the world will wait for you to get it together,” “Behave like an adult.” 

I always avoided Mom after these conversations because she seemed so wound up, but it must have been something to be on the other end of that scolding. 

There was jollof rice with goat meat bubbling away on the stove, the rice mingling with scents of thyme, garlic, ginger, basil, nutmeg and bay leaf. 

“Well actually, I started seeing someone.” I told her tentatively. She smiled.  
“Is he from work?” She asked. 

“No, he was a customer. My age though,” I added quickly. 

“Is he in uni then?” Aunt Wanda said. She got up and served the rice with a side of fried plantain, my favourite. I eagerly tucked in. 

“Not exactly. See he’s recording an album in London. Maybe you’ve heard of him? I hadn’t. Zayn Malik?” One day my voice would stop squeaking but today was not it. 

“No. The name sounds familiar though?” Aunt Wanda frowned, trying to recall.

“One Direction?” I added.

Aunt Wanda swore colourfully.

“Janet at work made us all vote for him in X-Factor. Sophie, he’s famous. Are you sure he....” She trailed off.

“We’d been hanging out after work for a while. And we just....” I swallowed. She was still my aunt. “I didn’t really think Zayn would like me in that way. But he said he does.”

“Just be careful okay? Things can get messy. You don’t really want to get caught up in that whole world,” She warned.

I shrugged.

“It is nice that you’re being social. Try to stay out of the spotlight, alright?”

Aunt Wanda gave my hair an affectionate ruffle and packed up the dishes. “Why don’t you see if Mister Celebrity is free and go do something?

I went up to my room and dialed Zayn’s number before I could lose my nerve.

“Sophie?” Zayn said. It was noisy in the background but his voice was still clear.

“Hi. Um, it’s me. Just wanted to see what you were up to?” 

“Hold on a sec--I’m on the phone. Leave me alone. It’s important.” He pleaded with whoever was with him. 

“Is that your girlfriend on the phone?” A young female voice asks. Two or three girls burst into a fit of giggles while he moved away from them. 

“Hello? Sorry about that.” Zayn said.

“Don’t want to bother you if you’re busy. Just wanted to see if we could hang out today.” I said, feeling sillier as the seconds passed. 

“I’m just with my sisters and parents today. Having lunch at home with then Waliyha wants to go shopping with Mum before they head home. Did you want to do something in the evening?”

“If you’re not busy.” I said.

“I’m not. Have you been to Trafalgar Square at night?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas are Krista, Ainee and Issy.  
> Catch me at dotsandstripesxo on Tumblr. Crossposted to 1DFF and Wattpad.


	8. Chapter 8

With instructions to dress in black, I donned black leggings, a plain black tee from Aunt Wanda she probably didn’t know she owned, black Toms and a black hoodie.

“Mind you don’t rob a bank in that getup,” she called after me, tapping away on her laptop. 

Zayn pulled up just after midnight in his black Navigator. I climbed into the passenger seat and he kissed me gently at first, then with a little more enthusiasm than I felt was appropriate with Aunt Wanda’s living room window right there. I cleared my throat.

“So, why are we dressed in black to go Trafalgar Square?”

We sped away from Kensington, and he was outfitted in black jeans and a black hoodie as well, although it seemed as if he might not even be wearing a shirt. He caught me looking and smiled.

“Makes us harder to be spotted in the dark. Also, I look good in black.” I laughed. His eyes left the road momentarily at the next red light. “And so do you.” 

My face grew hot and I ducked my head. He reached over to put his arm around the back of the seat and played idly with my hair while he drove, gently plucking the curls. 

Zayn pulled into a parking garage in a part of central London that I didn’t recognize.

“Hoods up.” He reached over and put my hood up and we walked outside. 

“It’s cold. Should’ve brought a coat.” I murmured, clasping my hands together. Zayn reached for my hand and although his hands weren’t much warmer than mine, it felt right.

Only a few people were around Trafalgar Square at this time of night. The fountains were lit and softly glowed, flanking what looked like a tower topped with a statue. I craned my neck to try to see it properly but it was obscured by darkness. 

“That’s Nelson’s column. Built to commemorate Admiral Nelson who perished during the Battle of Trafalgar.” Zayn whispered in my ear.

“Clever. Someone listened in school.” I quipped. I moved towards the lions at the foot of the column, laying a hand upon one.

“This is my favourite statue. Dunno why, but I like it a lot.”

I made him take a picture of me with his phone though it turned out all wrong with the flash too bright and the whites of my eyes and teeth near incandescent. He grabbed me to him afterwards and took another as a selfie, then still another kissing me while I laughed. There were little stars in my vision still when someone said,

“Aren’t you from One Direction?” A young blonde woman who was clearly inebriated beyond belief pointed at Zayn. 

“No. People keep telling me I look like Zayn though,” he replied.

Our friend frowned, looking at Zayn more closely though he’d pulled his hood around his face tighter.

“Sally he totally looks like that bloke from One Direction!” She shouted to her friend at the taxi stand. She whipped out her phone and was fumbling with the touch screen. The few people who were in the Square looked up.

“It’s time to go, I think,” Zayn whispered in my ear. He grabbed my hand and we ran as fast as possible away from the Square back towards the parking garage. I was wheezing by the time we got there, out of breath and sweaty.

We both got in the car and laughed harder than was warranted, clutching our sides and wheezing with tears running down our faces.

“ ‘People tell me I look like Zayn’? Seriously?” I chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Say hi here or on tumblr at dotsandstripesxo. Tumblr is where I put the bonus content (let me know what you want). Posting schedule is now Sundays only.


	9. Chapter 9

On the forty second page of a glossy cheap looking gossip magazine a week later, was the first time I ended up on a tabloid. 

Well actually, to be accurate, I got my hair in a tabloid. Off of a terrible cellphone photo that was so pixelated in looked like it was taken by a webcam in 2005, you could just make out Zayn and lots of curly black hair. Headline was “A brand new London sweetheart for 1D’s Zayn.”

I called Zayn right away.

“I saw,” he answered. “Talking to management about it. They’re only going to keep trying to find you.”

“What do we do?” I paced inside my room, taking two steps in each direction before being forced to turn around, and to my horror, found I was chewing on my nails. 

“I’ve had loads of fun with you. And I like you, you’re very sweet.” My heart fluttered in my chest. “But this is my life, and I don’t know how much of this you’re willing to put up with. You wouldn’t be the first to decide it’s not worth it.”

I could hear him tap, tap tapping away on a desk or wall. 

“What if I don’t know but want to try?” I said.

He sounded a little taken aback. “We could go out somewhere nice in a week’s time. Public. See how that goes.”

“Let’s try that.”

I told Aunt Wanda our plan and she frowned, deep lines etching themselves in her forehead.

“They don’t know anything now. But if you do go out with him, they’ll know who you are. That’s a messy way to begin a fresh start, Sophie.” Aunt Wanda said. But she didn’t say no and I let it go. 

I called Vidya a couple days after, then Bess. Neither were working or in courses, so after an awkward cup of tea with Aunt Wanda, the two of them were sitting on my bed and picking things out of my closet.

“How many grey things do you own?” Bess exclaims.

“Bad habit,” I said as Vidya picked out yet another grey cardigan. I hadn’t really planned on anything fancy when coming to London so aside from a black pencil skirt there was nothing. But if I knew Zayn, he would take me somewhere upscale.

“We could go shopping?” Vidya said. I shuddered.

“Not in the mood for that.” I said. I rarely went clothes shopping and that usually involved popping into H&M once a season and replacing whatever had fallen apart in the wash. 

“I might have something for you.” Vidya said thoughtfully. I looked at her skeptically. Not only was Vidya far slighter in build than me, but she was tall enough that I came up to her collarbone, all of my hair included. 

“My girlfriend’s about the same size, I think,” she added. Bess nodded. I scrambled for what to say--I didn’t know you were a lesbian but I’m really cool about stuff like that seemed tacky.

“Thanks?” 

But Vidya was already on the phone. “No, no, you know which one I mean. The blush pink one. Can I borrow it Jess? Sophie has a date and nothing to wear.”

“What size shoes are you in heels?

x

I felt like how all the eighties teen romcoms had lied to me about how my prom would be.

Vidya came first with a blush pink dress with a sweetheart neckline and pencil skirt, then headed to work. Bess dropped off black leather wedges and a sample of a Dior perfume that was sweet and intoxicating. Aunt Wanda had washed, detangled and double conditioned my hair until it fell in soft, shiny spirals down my back instead of my standard work bun.

Bess snapped a quick photo before she left. 

I began to feel a bit like a fraud. Here I was, literally in someone else’s clothing, dabbing on makeup I wasn’t even sure I knew how to wear properly. But before that anxiety freakout could escalate in earnest, the doorbell rang.

I could hear Aunt Wanda downstairs. “Hello? Zayn. I’m her Aunt Wanda. Please come in.”

Aunt Wanda was wearing somewhat normal clothes--for her that is--but that didn’t prevent me from putting on my earrings, double checking my purse and heading downstairs as quickly as possible.

They were chatting amicably in the living room about Zayn’s family. I was glad I hadn’t overdressed--he was wearing a slim fit charcoal dress pants with a crisp white oxford shirt and a black tie. Simple, but elegant. They looked up as I approached the couch.

“Don’t you look lovely.” Aunt Wanda said, her voice a little choked.

Zayn looked at me and swallowed hard. 

“Wow. You look just... wow.”

He stood up and offered me his hand. I took it in mine and we stepped outside. I expected the Navigator, but he waved at a shiny black cab across the street. Zayn helped me into the back seat then sat beside me. 

We arrived shortly at a restaurant I didn’t recognize though I knew we were near my store.

“Welcome to the Ivy, Mr. Malik and Ms. Adeng. Please follow me.”. The Ivy was posh--we walked past the main dining room and its dizzying art deco themed decor into a private room with the diamond patterned stained glass that seemed to be a motif here. The table was set in impeccable white.

“Thank you. Give us a moment to settle in.” The host walked away, and I tried to focus on the menu but it still hadn’t sunk in. Zayn calmly poured us both a glass of red wine from the bottle left on our table.

“You like to go all out for a date, don’t you?” I tried for a breezy tone but Zayn grasped my left hand in both of his.

“For you? Yes. Thank you by the way,” he said.

“For what?”

“For agreeing to all this. You could’ve walked away.” But the idea hadn’t even occurred to me.

I picked up the menu another time, trying to focus on what seemed like an endless array of delicious and terribly expensive food. I wasn’t doing badly--but once I reminded myself the menu was in pounds and not dollars, I almost dragged Zayn to the nearest McDonald’s.

“Do you want me to order for both of us? I know the menu well.” I nodded and resolved not to look at it any further. He walked up to the doorway, I took full advantage of the rear view while he spoke to our server who it seemed was waiting right outside.  
I sipped my wine slowly--though I had never been much a fan of the stuff, this was a bright fruity and citrusy red that was just the slightest bit tart. 

When a server returned with a tray of spicy looking mussels in the shape of a flower and garlic bread, I almost swooned. I could appreciate a good plating after watching so much Food Network. 

“Did you ever travel before deciding to come the UK?” He asked.

I thought for a few moments.

“I mean, I went to Ghana to visit my Dad before he passed but I was really little. I came to visit my Aunt here in London on a brief stopover sometimes. In Canada, I’ve been to Montreal, Vancouver, lots of Ontario, northern Quebec, the Prairies...I love it all. What about you?”

For a moment, the magic broke and I imagined Zayn was going to ask me if I loved it so much I’d left. I swallowed hard. 

“Touring means I see a lot more of venues and the inside of hotel rooms than I do cities. I try though--actually had a wonderful time in Canada. Toronto was very cool and so was Montreal but in a different way.” 

The main course arrived, just as exquisitely plated as the first. I smelled the tang of garlic before I saw the delicate tortellini in basil dotted cream sauce on one large plate. We were eating together and I kept accidentally clanging forks with him. He smiled every single time it happened.

“Can I ask you something? Do you want to go back to uni eventually?” I paused. I was trying to take it as a simple question but I could also see it as “are you going to stick around?” which I didn’t have an answer for. I shrugged.

“I liked my courses in Canadian Studies --I’d love to still work for something to do with the Canadian arts scene or possibly journalism. But right now I’m happy here, you know?” 

We locked eyes. He broke eye contact first looking at my bottom lip I had caught in my teeth. Zayn was so close, I could see the faint ring of hazel around his eyes and I dared him to come closer.

As the waiter came in he startled Zayn so badly he almost knocked the bottle of wine onto my lap. I couldn’t help myself and started laughing.

“But what about you? Ever going to go to uni? Wish you were there?” I teased.

“I’ll tell you a secret: sometimes I do. I would love to study English Lit at Leeds. I don’t get as much time to read these days as I’d like.”

The almond caramel chocolate torte slice sat in the middle of both of us with one fork. Probably his doing. Zayn picked it up, cut a small piece and held it on the end of the fork.

“Here.” I leaned forward and tasted the torte. It was rich tasting, but fluffy light on my tongue. The caramel was lightly salted, the chocolate dark and the faintest bit bitter. When my eyes fluttered open he was watching my mouth again.

“Your turn.” I plucked the fork from Zayn’s hands and guided it to his mouth. He took it slowly, chewing and swallowing deliberately.

After the last bite, Zayn brushed the crumbs off the corner my mouth with his thumb then kissed me gently. This was sweet and slow. I could taste the chocolate, wine and something that was just him--warm cinnamon.

We were holding hands as we exited the restaurant. It was cold, damp and grey as any other London November but I couldn’t be bothered. 

There were several middle aged men with cameras by the opposite corner looking fairly bored though they perked up at the sight of a town car. 

They recognized Zayn and all the sudden flashes were going off and questions being shouted at top volume.

“Is this your girlfriend? What’s her name? Pose and smile for the camera, loves? Zayn! Zayn!” But he set his face in a studied neutral expression, put his arm protectively over my shoulders and refused to acknowledge anything being shouted at us. I instinctively ducked my head and put my hand in front of my face, running blindly. 

The driver acted as if small crowd hadn’t practically chased us into the car and for that, I was grateful. 

Zayn’s expression was unreadable and I was loathe to break the silence until he did. After a long moment, he leaned forward.

“Raise the partition, please,” he said to the driver. As the screen went up, he unbuckled his seatbelt. 

“Hope they didn’t scare you. Wasn’t expecting that kind of crap so early. I think my publicist must have told someone. Fuck.” Zayn halfheartedly punched the screen.

“No, I’m fine. It was a little weird to be honest. Is it like that all the time?” I asked.

“Nope. Sometimes it’s worse.” I thought he was making a joke until I clicked off my safety to face him and realize he was being quite serious. I put my hand over his. 

“I had a great time, Zayn. Don’t worry about it.” I leaned in closer and pecked him. As I slid back towards my seat, he grabbed me by the waist and slid me back over. 

“Just a kiss on the cheek?”

Zayn kissed me as if he had channelled all his frustration into it. I was pinned between the door and the warm solid heat of his chest but I couldn’t bring myself to mind. I could feel that he was still tense but it melted every second we spent kissing. He peppered me with short kisses interspersed with long, dizzying open mouth kisses. I had never been a fan of lip biting but Zayn had made a convert of me.

I tried to convince myself it was something to do with not having been laid in about a year. Maybe that I had a few glasses of wine. Also, Zayn In a Suit. Possibly even, adrenaline.

But when the car rolled to a stop. I was the one who had him pinned as I was straddling him. My dress had rolled up my thighs and Zayn had tangled his hands in my hair. Suddenly I could feel him pressing on my inner thigh. He cleared his throat and I flushed with embarrassment, scrambling to the side and suddenly wondering if the partition was as soundproof as I thought. 

“You’re going to drive me absolutely mad if you keep that up. Get going, you.” He smiled and I felt him watching me all the way up until I unlocked the door.

Aunt Wanda was nowhere to be seen. I checked her room and having confirmed I was alone, stripped off the dress and bounced around the house in my underpants. With a cup of darjeeling black and a touch of sugar I emailed Cassidy a long and detailed email.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas are Krista, Ainee and Issy.  
> Catch me at dotsandstripesxo on Tumblr. Crossposted to 1DFF and Wattpad.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry ladies, it looks like Zayn Malik of One Direction is off the market._

_We caught him canoodling with this beauty at the illustrious Ivy in London on Sunday night. They were seen earlier in the month at Trafalgar Square in the middle of the night taking a romantic stroll. Zayn’s publicist has declined to reveal her name stating, “Mr. Malik would appreciate his privacy as well as hers being respected.”_

_Just who is this pretty young thing who has caught our favourite One Direction heartthrob’s eye?_

TheRag, the UK’s Gossip Mag, Week of November 26th

With bouncing curls, black heels, and that blush pink dress underneath my black peacoat I actually looked nice on the fifth page, with Zayn cutting a dashing figure holding my hand while pushing through the paparazzi crowd. I suspected they lightened my skin quite a bit which made me angry.They had nipped in my waist as well-- I was reasonably sure that my waist to butt ratio was slightly less impressive than pictured even with spanx. 

I closed the magazine as soon as I was done my break. Despite being paranoid someone might recognize me at TeaWorld, there was nothing but bringing out our winter teas and helping a few people doing early Christmas shopping. 

From: Zayn, 16:00  
 _Want to come over after work? I’ll get Chinese takeaway_

To: Zayn, 16:01  
 _Sure, where do you live?_

The cobblestone building was plain neat brick on the outside divided into six units. Zayn buzzed me up and I walked up to the top floor. He answered the door wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt and I made up my mind that he always looked good.

As I stepped in and took my coat off, I looked around and whistled. It was a bachelor apartment, but either him or his interior designer had good taste. It was cozy, furnished tastefully and had a beautiful Bose sound system below the television.

“I knew you’d like that. I didn’t pick it out.”

“Oh it’s gorgeous,” I said running my hands along the panels.

“You can play with it after dinner. I’m starving.” He led me into the kitchen. He was neat and nothing sat on the marble kitchen island but a cordless phone and two bar stools. He waited until we’d both inhaled chicken fried rice then said. 

“I need you to talk to someone and you’re probably not going to like it.”

“Your therapist? Banker? Interior designer? One of your bandmates?” I said. Zayn was trying not to laugh and failing miserably. 

“Nothing quite so glamorous. The band’s publicist Mindy wants a chat.” He moved in closer behind me.

“A chat about what?”

“Us. She’s a bit of a harpy, but it’s necessary, okay?”

Without hesitation he dialed the number. He looked as nervous as I felt. “Mindy, I’ve got Sophie here for a quick chat like you asked.” 

“Hello?” 

“Hi Sophie Adeng? My name is Mindy. Glad we’re getting a chance to chat.”

I mumbled my assent. She had a smooth contralto voice with an accent so crisp it sounded as if she’d just come from finishing school. 

“I understand Zayn is interested in you. You seem like a lovely girl. Did some research: good grades in high school, a few minor music journalism pieces for Canadian press, great work ethic, very smart.”

“Um, thank you.” But Mindy cut me off and continued talking.

“My condolences about your mother. Cancer is always hard on families. Especially when you’re an only child. “

I swallowed hard, the fullness in my belly feeling uncomfortable at those words. She’d clearly done her homework--even Zayn didn’t know that much. My heart was racing and a flash of anger coursed underneath my nervousness. I remained quiet on the line, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. 

“Just wanted to introduce myself. I represent the best interests of everyone involved, you understand. I’ve just a few words of advice for you. Please don’t chat with the media if they approach you from now on. Come straight to me. Do not say anything. Not even hello. Second, should you have any concerns, feel free to address me. I’m here to help. Zayn has my card. He chatted with me before you went out on a date.”

“But lastly, and you shouldn’t forget this, I’m here for Zayn first and foremost. You do anything I’ve asked you not to, I’ll throw you so far under the bus you’ll come out the other side. It’s nothing personal and you seem nice enough. Zayn said no to having you sign a nondisclosure agreement against my advice. Nothing I can do about that. But do...mind yourself, understood?” The threat left her lips casually as if rehearsed to the point of boredom. I heaved a steadying breath. 

“Understood.” My voice trembled. The line went dead. 

Little beads of sweat were forming on the back of my neck. From the pleading expression on his face I could guess this wasn’t his idea. I knew that this was probably standard procedure. 

“Don’t let Mindy scare you. She’s just a bit intense.” He shrugged and then caught the expression on my face. 

“She knew everything about me.” I breathed a little above a whisper. 

He continued, “She’s like that. Look, I’m sorry. Mindy does that sometimes. She went a bit far with you maybe.”

I drew myself up to my full height, the beginnings of outrage stiffening my spine. “Who exactly do you think I am?”

“It’s not like I believe you’re going to sell me out. I’ve been avoiding this since the day I started chatting you up because it’s just another thing that is part of my life I don’t like.” He was babbling, and tapping his finger on the counter restlessly. 

“Do you have to have any girl you ‘chat up’ talk to Mindy or is this just for me?” I was seething for a reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint, arms crossed. Mostly, I was hurt that this was so impersonal, so routine.

“No. I mean, yes. It depends to be perfectly honest. Sophie, it’s not a big deal and I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her.”

“She talked about my mother. She said she was sorry for my loss. She said cancer. I didn’t even tell you that much.” The mood had shifted to something prickly and uncomfortable.This was invasive and made me feel small. I put so much trust in him, couldn’t he put any in me? Was this what I was signing up for? 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Sophie. She shouldn’t have said that. “ He moved towards me and I flinched hard. Zayn lowered his hand.

“Is this what it’s like? Does she also know my weight and time of birth? Just wondering if I get any privacy at this point.” My tone was biting and sarcastic. It was his turn to flinch and I was almost sorry. But I was near tears at this point and getting angrier still. He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

“I like you Sophie. That’s it. That’s all. I fucking like you.”

“Listen, I’ll call in a couple days, alright?” He nodded as I turned my back on him to grab my coat. He hovered behind me by the door, as if he wanted to say something else but I ignored him. I needed some space to breathe. I slammed the door behind me and jogged down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator.


	11. Chapter 11

“Aunt Wanda, when do you know when you should give up on someone?” I expected her to shoo me because it was the middle of her workday but she put down her laptop and patted the couch. She was wearing a striped purple and yellow sleeveless jumpsuit and I would have had a hard time taking her seriously if I hadn’t been pacing upstairs for an hour or so. She squinted at me and I thought she might say something about how I hadn’t showered in two days and had been crying on and off for the last week. I’d been brooding if I was honest, ignoring text messages and sleeping when I wasn’t working. 

“Akwaaba Sophie.”

“Ya ena” My Twi was clumsy and seldom used but still apparently functional. I said the response to her greeting automatically but she smiled nonetheless. 

“When I first got to London, I caught the eye of this artist fellow. He was an up and comer and I’d never sold a painting at the time. He took a shine to me. Called me his good luck charm. Here I was, this skinny awkward girl with almost no hair because I shaved it when I was high on dodgy club ecstasy. I was full of daydreams and came to look at the masters in museums. Then I was at art galas and funders talking to the masters and seeing how they worked.”

“I kept asking myself ‘is this worth it?’

When I sold my first painting, it was worth it. When I met an artist I loved, it was worth it. When he smiled at me, it was worth it. When I got to travel, it was worth it. I loved him so it was worth it.”

“ And the day I realized I hadn’t even picked up a sketchbook in two months--that I’d become subject or a muse rather than an artist in my own right is the day I decided it wasn’t worth it. When I realized I stopped having my own dreams and he laughed at the idea of me being a graphic designer, it wasn’t worth it.”

“My advice with Zayn, is carefully weigh whether it’s worth it. Do it often. He’s a nice young man, but he’s also famous. More so than some trendy artist. That means something. Listen to yourself.”

I hugged her tightly. She kissed my forehead and then shooed me.

“Zayn, can I come over again?”

His voice was warm and fuzzy with sleep and confusion though it was midday. 

“Yes. Please. I’ll come pick you up in an hour.”

When he pulled into the front of Aunt Wanda’s with the Navigator, I could see his hair was still wet from the shower, and there were dark circles lining underneath his eyes. He didn’t have the advantage of makeup--I threw some under eye vitamin concealer or I’m not sure I’d look any better. 

“Before I say anything else, Mindy’s on the phone to apologize.” Zayn’s mouth was drawn in a tight line as he flicked on the car stereophone.

“Sophie, my apologies for my behaviour last week. It was inappropriate and cruel of me to...surprise you like that. I lost my own father and I can’t imagine--” It sounds like Mindy is choking back sobs. “Sometimes I get too caught up with myself. I meant to illustrate that anything I could find out the press would but I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m very sorry. If there’s any way I could make it up to you, I will.”

Though I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to encounter her particular brand of advice again, I appreciated that her apology seemed genuine and told her as much. 

“I accept your apology Mindy.” I said simply.

Zayn cut her off abruptly.

“You must’ve given her a hard time.” I remarked quietly.

“Everyone in the band did. The way Niall was banging on, she’s lucky she didn’t get tossed out on her arse. Just because you’re not famous doesn’t mean she can treat you like that. I owe you an apology too.”

“It’s not your fault.” And it wasn’t, I had concluded. 

Zayn was brooding and quiet until we got to his apartment which was dark and still smelled faintly of Chinese food. I shrugged off my coat, kick off my boots and leaned against the cold marble kitchen counter.

“The thing is, all of this is my fault. I forget when I’m with you that my life has gotten so complicated.” 

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I detangled his hands from each other. “This isn’t complicated.”

“Isn’t it though?” 

I kissed him in response. Zayn kissed me back tentatively as if I might run out of the door any second, trembling slightly.

I pulled away from him. His gaze skimmed the length of my body and I felt self conscious for a moment. I was wearing a grey sweatshirt, mismatched socks and my favourite black jeans with a hole in the hip. But the way he looked when I held his gaze while I took them off was worth it.

This time his kiss was heated, pressing me into the counter while he trailed his fingers over every inch of bare skin, travelling along my back and from hip to hip.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Zayn asked. His breathing was hitched and uneven. He was still fully clothed, his thin cotton t-shirt scraping against my skin.

“Yes.” I said. I was surprised I was nearly as breathless as he was though all we had done so far is kiss.

He stepped away for a second adding his clothes to my pile on the floor. I traced the tattoo I had never seen on his chest, another on his hip and another on his ribcage. He reached behind me and took out the hair elastic so all my hair came out of its bun and spilled down my back. 

“Have you ever---?” He left the question hanging and I smiled a little.

“You’re not my first if that’s what you’re asking.” He was peppering kisses over my collarbone, hand still in my hair, tangled loosely. 

First times were always awkward. I caught a fit of giggles halfway through and he paused mid-thrust and shot a look that implied he thought I might be slightly mad. I probably had a rug burn on my butt and Zayn elbowed me in the ribs once. It was lovely and perfectly awkward.

Afterwards, comfort, heavy and sweet, settled over me. We were lying down next to each other still panting hard and holding each other when he broke the silence.

“We probably should have made it to the bed. Ever had a cigarette after sex?” He fumbled and lit one and the acrid smell of tobacco was in the air. I’d smoked once or twice but never sober. I reached across and took a tentative puff. I was lightheaded from the rush I got from the nicotine hitting my lungs. Zayn was grinning all the while.

“Awful for your health and all, but feels good, no?” 

“What’s the most stupid thing you’ve ever done?” I blurted out, passing back the cigarette. 

“C’mon no one wants to hear that.” He flicked the ash into a cup of water by a side table in the living room. 

“I do.”

“Oh alright. I accidentally threw a bottle through a glass door at a hotel in Barcelona when I was drunk trying to play catch with Harry. Then I tried to pick up all the broken pieces of glass with my hands and bled all over the carpet. The bill for that was ridiculous and no one could even explain to the hotel or our manager why there was blood and glass everywhere.”

“How do you accidentally throw a bottle through a door?”

“Don’t worry about it. What about you?”

“I pretty much dropped out of university and ran away from home with a suitcase, a one way ticket and not much of a plan in the span of two weeks.”

“I think it’s pretty brave actually. Not stupid at all. And something good came of it.” He winked at me. 

“What do you most like about being in your band?

“Being with my friends. Making music with them. The fans. That’s why I do this. What do you like most about being in London?”

“The weather.” I teased. Zayn rolled over and pinned me with his hips. There was a mischievous quirk to his lips, 

“Oh really?”

“You, silly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answer the question of what I'm doing with my life? Someone?
> 
> Akwaaba = Welcome
> 
> Ya ena = Yes, mother (used as greeting for any woman older than you).
> 
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo


	12. Chapter 12

This time I stayed the night. I woke up several times in the night, tucked under Zayn’s arm as if he just couldn’t let me go. I felt anchored in the here and now for once. Not living in the past, not worried about the future, but just here with him. 

Light streamed through the window and I woke to Zayn staring at me.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Eleven.”

“Fuck. I should be at work. I was supposed to start at eleven.” I groaned into a pillow.

“I’ll drive you, just get ready. You can grab one of my t-shirts from the dresser.”

Thirty minutes later, I gave Zayn a quick kiss before running into the store. My hair was escaping its bun, not helped by Zayn’s attempt to help me put it in a ponytail while I brushed my teeth. I smelled of Zayn’s cologne and thin white t-shirts were definitely a violation of work dress code. I looked like a wreck. But no one greeted me as I walked into TeaWorld.

John and Bess were talking in hushed tones in the staffroom and I hesitated. I didn’t know whether to go in or not. 

“I just need the extra shifts John. It really doesn’t bother me to do open to close,” Bess said with a pleading note in her voice.

“Sorry,” and I noted John didn’t sound very sorry at all. “If you do extra shifts, clock yourself in as regular employee not assistant manager. I’m not paying you overtime especially during the holidays. You tell Grace and I’ll take you down to twelve hours a week total.”

Grace was our regional manager. This sounded suspect to say the least. 

“It won’t affect our bottom line. We’ve been above the sales goals. I need ten hours more a week--” 

“And I’m doing you a flipping favour giving you any shifts, aren’t I? Clock in as regular. Take six more a week. It’s all I’ll give you.” John strode out, cigarette already dangling from his mouth. He didn’t even glance at me.

“Bess, are you okay?” Her face was turned from me, but she was taking huge shuddering breaths, shoulders shaking. She turned her face into my shirt and started crying in earnest. I circled my arms around her. She was sobbing so hard I could hardly make words out. 

“I can spot you some money if you’re in trouble. I have extra. My mom left me some money--” At this Bess choked out a laugh, embarrassed and turning pink.

“No, I’ll be alright. I’ve always made it work.” She leaned out of my hug to give me a sad smile. Bess went off to wash her face in the washroom while I clocked in an hour late. John was lounging behind the tea counter texting and I shot him a dirty look. 

“We can go for a pint after work? I’ll tell you about my last date.” I asked Bess later in the day. She had recovered and was her usual charming self with all the customers, outselling me by a hundred pounds or so on the accessories floor.

“Nah, going out two nights in a row doesn’t agree with me anymore. But Matthew--you remember Matthew from Vidya’s birthday party? He’s having a house party tomorrow.”

“I’ll come for sure.”

“You can bring Zayn if you want. Not going to be anything big, but should be a good time.”

To: Zayn 18:02  
 _We should meet each other’s friends. We’re dating. Come to the party!_

From: Zayn, 18:06  
 _Can’t we just do something low key? Watch a movie? Cuddle? Have sex on a bed this time?_

To: Zayn, 18:10   
_We’ll stay for an hour._

From: Zayn, 18:11  
 _You know, I’m not supposed to do shit like this_

From: Zayn, 18:11  
 _But I find it hard to say no to you. I’ll pick you up._

“Thought I’d go with something a little less flash. It’s my uncle’s old car. He doesn’t drive it anymore but it works.” Zayn said Thursday night. We were in a rusty red Honda Civic that made sounds that I would have found worrisome in a lawnmower much less a car that wasn’t at least as old as I was. Whenever he let go of the wheel, it drifted towards the left and I could see Zayn overcompensating. 

“Does he know you’ve borrowed his dumpster instead of his car?” I asked as he pulled up just outside London. 

“Show some respect, woman. She can hear you.” He patted the car fondly and I rolled my eyes. We held hands and walked up to the door. It was the kind of home you’ll find in every suburb outside a major city. A non descript townhome large enough to be slightly immodest but close enough to the city to be expensive.

As we entered, I air kissed cheeks of all the girls I recognized from the last party and Zayn held back giving a small wave to anyone who I introduced. I didn’t see Bess or Vidya but we were only in the front room and I could hear thumping bass in the back of the house somewhere.

Matthew stumbled into the kitchen as I poured myself a glass of wine. He was red cheeked, tousle haired and a bit drunk to say the least. He gave me a bone crushing hug then looked up at Zayn. 

“Sophie, this is the super fit celebrity boyfriend I’ve been hearing about? About time I met the fucking wanker.” Matthew held out his hand and Zayn looked at me for reassurance. I gave him a nod and Zayn took his hand only to be pulled into one of those bro-type half hug half back thumping greetings. I quickly picked up my glass of wine to disguise my amusement . 

“Matthew St Laurent, at your service. Have a pint if you’re not driving, don’t nick anything, don’t sleep in my bed and don’t break anything that looks expensive. Nice to meet you.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow at me as Matthew stumbled away but I gave him nothing more than a slight shrug. We moved towards the back of the house and came upon Vidya next. 

“Soph! Zayn! So nice to see you both. This is Jess, my girlfriend.” Jess reminded me of a french model whose name I could never remember--her brown hair, strong eyebrows and eyes so blue I thought they might be contacts. But when she smiled at us, she lit up in a way that made it impossible not to like her.

“Great to meet you. Vidya never stops talking about you. Mostly bad things, if we’re being honest.” The Irish lilt and deadpan delivery sealed it for me. This girl was perfect for Vidya. We chitchatted for a while, with me occasionally catching someone’s eye who was staring at Zayn but no one said anything weird until Karim interrupted.

“Bro, know you’re not working or nothing but my younger sis is a huge fan. Can you sign something?” Karim asked. He seemed nervous, almost frightened but Zayn came alive. 

“ What’s your sister’s name?”

“Amina.” Karim looked puzzled, but Zayn whipped out a paper and scribbled a few lines ending with a flourish. 

“That’s going to end up on the internet.” I said. Zayn shrugged. 

“Vidz, where’s Bess? I want her to meet Zayn before we have to go.”

“Haven’t seen her since the beginning of the party. She might have left.” Vidya shrugged.

“Want to get out of here?” Zayn whispered in my ear.There was a faint promise there. I nodded.


	13. Chapter 13

I opened up my Facebook for the first time in a month and saw 100+ friend requests, 30 messages in the notification bar. I scrolled through trying to figure out how I’d gotten so popular. Some were random people--girls mostly, from all over the world no particular rhyme or reason. Others were acquaintances I hadn’t talked to since middle school. The messages were mostly complimentary but when a few from supposed journalists mentioned “exclusive interview” I went into panic mode and deleted my profile entirely.

My email was even worse. It was just my first and last name. For a girl who liked inbox zero, the literal thousands of emails made my skin crawl just looking at it. I signed up for a brand new email using my middle name and mother’s maiden name--Ama Yeboah. I emailed Cassidy fairly calmly and explained that my old email had probably popped up somewhere. Almost on cue my phone started ringing. 

I got a hold of myself and reminded myself it was a burner phone with pay as you go service and when I checked it was Vidya.

“Your name is out there now. Someone took a picture of you and Zayn together at the party last week. Could’ve been anyone to be honest. I don’t even know half of Matt’s friends. ”

I heaved a heavy sigh and sank into the mattress.

“I know. My email and Facebook are a fucking mess.”

“At least you’re not a gadgety type, ” Vidya remarked. I chuckled softly. “Might you want to call that publicist?”

I cringed at the thought of our last interaction but I called Zayn and he agreed with Vidya. I dialled Mindy afterwards. I could tell she was good at her job because she listened carefully, repeating details to make sure she was right.

“No one is writing you any disturbing messages?” 

“I didn’t look at them all,” I confessed. 

“Change the password to lightscameras. All lowercase. I can have someone go through them and make sure nothing is amiss. It’s a bit of a shock but if you lay a little low for a bit you should be fine. Welcome to the d-list, darling."

How was I going to tell Aunt Wanda? But while I fidgeted over cereal, she pushed three magazines and a printout at me. It was me again. No Photoshop this time just a few candids of me and Zayn in Matthew's house. A quick kiss. Him looking at me while I was talking to Jess and smiling fondly.

"Kinda weird isn't it?" 

I nodded. 

"Still worth it?" 

I looked at the one photograph again of Zayn gazing at me as if I'd hung the moon. "Yeah I think it is."

 _Teenage heartthrob Zayn avoids the question about the nature of their relationship but confesses to me “She’s a really down to earth girl. Reminds me to slow down, enjoy life. She’s a bit shy about all the attention I get though.”_  
KristineKGossips.uk

No one said a word to me at TeaWorld and by midday I was convinced no one had made the connection yet in real life. Zayn offered to pick me up after work and I accepted. Of all the questions I had the one I blurted out first was,

“Do you celebrate Christmas?”

“Do you know many Muslims who celebrate Christmas?” He winked. My face grew hot with embarrassment.

“I didn’t know how...er...devout you are.” I said. He had left at some point for ten or so minutes every time I was in his bed but it never occurred to me he might be praying. 

“I wasn’t really. But the older I get and the more time I spend away from family the more important I find it.” I must seem curious because he continued, “I don’t eat pork. I try not to drink too often. No one in my family seems to care about the tattoos but they all think I should quit smoking.”

“No Christmas presents, I guess.” I chew on my lip absentmindedly.

“No. I’ll be at my family’s earlier for Eid. Then there are some music awards to attend so I’ll be away for a week and a half.”

I tried not to look too displeased but he kissed me on the cheek assuringly.

“That reminds me, did you want to come to Paris for New Year’s? One Direction is doing a set for the countdown. You could meet my band then? They’d all like to meet you. You can bring a friend if you want.”

My heart pounded fast but I arched an eyebrow at him playing it cool.

“Convince me?”

And bless his heart, he shut the door behind us, lifted me onto his kitchen counter and set to trying immediately.


	14. Chapter 14

I shouldn’t have Googled myself, but if moving to London didn’t already prove it, I had poor impulse control. 

My name had been out for a month and I’d been recognized fairly rarely but enough so to make me uneasy. It was normally a point and a laugh. A subtle look and two friends elbowing each other. Even once a loudly whispered, “Zayn’s girlfriend is really fucking short in real life.” from behind my back.

So while it’s true I was not much a person for the internet this once I couldn’t stop myself from prowling through comment sections. While most people seemed to think I was living the dream, a fair few seemed to think I was an ugly gold digging slut with extensive plastic surgery with terrible taste in music who moved to London specifically to catch their man and become famous, no matter that I dodged media as hard as I could.

A few snaps of my awkward childhood were dredged up. Me winning a track meet in grade five with my hair in pigtails and my mom smiling beside me. A cover band I’d formed from grade eight when all I wore was black and refused to smile or learn the guitar I’d wanted so badly. Me in the booth of the university radio station broadcasting the most obscure Canadian indie I could find. I smiled fondly at those.

Bess tried to help me shake off the more negative feelings.

“These people have no fucking clue who you are so they’re making shit up. Ignore ‘em.” 

I was dancing behind the tea counter as always on shift daydreaming and trying to shake of the bad vibes when I heard a familiar voice.

“Sophie Adeng, could I have a matcha latte with coconut milk?” My eyes flicked up and there was a petite Filipina girl calmly leaning on the counter, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Shut the hell up! Cassidy Mendez, what the fuck are you doing in England?”

“Visiting my best friend. Last minute flight deals. Flight points from overspending a little on my credit card. Sometimes things happen for a reason.” She winked.

No matter what the weather was like, Cassidy was always dressed like it was the height of summer. London was brisk and snowy mid December and she was wearing a white crop top and jean cut offs with tights, a grey wool cardigan and boots the only acquiescence to the weather. She looked wonderfully out of place as always, and I didn’t realize how much I’d missed her. How much she felt like home when I heard her voice. 

“How long are you staying?”

“Two weeks. Someone said she wished I could go with her to Paris so here I am. I wanted to meet this boyfriend of yours.”

And it turns out Aunt Wanda knew as well, “I’m going to do an art installation for a friend in Santorini. Leaving the house to you lovely ladies to house sit for me.”

That first night we stayed up until dawn catching up. 

We talked at once often, finishing each other’s thoughts and holding two conversations at once and collapsing in giggles. Sometimes we clasped each other’s hands only to say “alright?”

Although I got the occasional text or email from Zayn, our near constant conversations slowed while he travelled. But between Cassidy here and all the sightseeing and clubbing she wanted to do, I stopped checking in as well. 

Before I knew it, Paris was here.

I waited until the last minute, gave all my shifts to Bess and left the planning to Cassidy which in hindsight was a mistake, because her middle name was only Anne because her parents didn’t know Cassidy “Wingin’ It” Mendez was an option.

“It’s cool, there’s probably a train after this one.” She shouted as we clattered through Kings Cross with tiny rolling suitcases and ten minutes to spare 

“But our tickets!” 

“Oh I didn’t buy tickets.”

“Cassidy, it’s high season. Are you fucking daft? We might as well just start wading across the Channel now.”

To her credit, she did not slow down once in her high heeled sandals as she turned around, flipped me a well manicured middle finger and kept running. Cassidy smiled dazzlingly at the ticket counter, and mysteriously with seconds to spare, two seats opened up in business premier class for the price of an economy fare and the train was held to let us board.

“Don’t ever doubt me, my darling Sophie.” Cassidy fixed her lipstick in her compact and winked at me.

“Oh fuck you.” I said with genuine affection. We’re off to Paris.


	15. Chapter 15

Paris took my breath away. 

Cassidy and I stood in the lobby of the Hotel Saint Germain des Pres. I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the gilded ceiling to floor mirrors and I was surprised no one had approached me to ask what I was doing here. I wasn’t quite awake yet after the nap on the train. 

But as Zayn had instructed there was a room under Ama Yeboah and the concierge passed me four keycards. 

"Merci." I said, digging for the little elementary school French I hadn't lost. Pamplemousse? What was Dr and Mrs Vandertramp for again? 

In crisp but fairly accentless English he replied "The seventh floor is where your group are staying and has been locked down by security. The gold key card is for your room. The silver key card is for the elevator. Enjoy your stay."

"This is so fucking sick, bro." Cassidy exclaimed. She definitely showed her east Toronto suburban roots when she got excited even though her family lived in a gated community. 

We had a whole suite to ourselves with a den with a flat screen television, kitchenette, white marble bathrooms, and two bedrooms. It was roughly twice the size of Aunt Wanda’s entire flat and she had done pretty well for herself, I’d thought.

“C’mere. I’ll do your makeup before we meet the dream team.” 

“Not all of us can go clubbing a week straight without looking like shit.” I reluctantly sat on the bed though I was secretly relieved. Cassidy was a genius with cosmetics and even ran her own modestly popular YouTube channel.   
Looking dewy and fresh with a wicked looking wingtip, I wore a worn out Tokyo Police Club tee which was my favourite, a pair of black jeans and black Toms. When we walked into the hallway there were a few crew members milling about--grubby band shirts contrasting with the pristine elegance of the hotel.

Zayn popped out of one of the rooms and came and kissed me like he had missed me. Without missing a beat, he held out a hand to Cassidy who bypassed it in favour of a hug.

“The boys are at the end of the hall,” he explained.

Zayn opened the door to the multiroom suite even bigger than ours and swept us inside. There were four boys and a girl lounging in the living room either watching tv or on their smartphones or computers. I think I recognized the boys at least but Cassidy quietly whispered names in my ear.

“You’re Sophie? ” Niall. He had a rather charming Irish accent and was the one closest to the door lying on the plush white carpeting. The girl was resting her head on his shoulder while browsing on the computer, wearing a backwards snapback over ombre red black hair. 

“I’m Katy,” she offered.

Liam was hanging over by the television watching soccer and gave us both a small wave and a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. 

Louis tore his eyes from the television to acknowledge Cassidy and I. I could tell she was uncomfortable as she had hardly said a word during the introductions. But she softened a little as Louis took the time to shake both our hands warmly and effusively.

“You’re the one, Zayn won’t keep quiet about eh?” He smiled so brightly it was hard not to relax a little.

Then, there was Harry in the kitchenette eating takeout from a container. Zayn walked us both over, and Harry looked at me dead in the eye and squinted. 

“You’re much shorter in real life,” is the first thing Harry said to me. Zayn tensed beside me, Louis chortled and Liam glared. It seemed no one else had heard. I shot him a bemused look. But I could sense Cassidy was suddenly at ease. She knew how to play this game.

“You’re much cuter in the magazines,” said Cassidy. He looked her up and down, no doubt taking in the red lipstick, torn tights, black denim shorts, white tee and black cardigan. Harry smirked just a little. 

“Your friend’s honest. I like it,” he said.

x

A tall redheaded roadie was yelling for us to move our arses an hour later as we scramble out of the back door of the hotel to enter black tour buses with tinted windows to Champs-Élysées. It’s fairly cold out and I could feel the crunch of ice underneath my shoes. There were hordes of fans on every side and my eardrums felt like they were going to burst, there was so much screaming. The makeshift barrier of security guard heaves around our group and I stopped. 

“Keep it moving folks!” Someone from the crew yelled. But I couldn’t see Zayn anymore and every once in a while I hear my name and a few insults thrown in for good measure. 

An otherwise ordinary looking French girl threw a bottle of water. She was shouting but I couldn’t make out any words but Zayn and One Direction over the cacophony. It was ice cold and doused me from head to toe. I stood soaked and shivering while security hauled her away bodily from the convoy. This was the longest 100 metres I’ve ever walked.

Katy shoved tiny yellow industrial earplugs in my hand and gestured that I should put them in. All the background noise faded to a dull roar as soon as I did. She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me to the second bus behind the boys.

“Soph, what happened?” Cassidy asked when I got on the bus.

I couldn’t make my mouth move. I couldn’t speak. I just shivered harder. 

“Someone threw a bottle of water at her,” Katy told her. I burst into tears. I pulled out my cellphone to try to call Zayn but the screen was black with water damage. I threw it on the floor and sobbed harder, never mind I was making a fool of myself in front of complete strangers.

I had stopped crying by the time we got backstage but that shaky ill feeling hadn’t faded, even as I dried the worst of it with a hand dryer and scrubbed the streaky mascara from my face. Cassidy had yelled at security for not having them park closer but it didn’t make me feel any better. 

“This kind of thing comes with the gig, you know,” Cassidy said, attempting to comfort me. I shrugged. A VIP backstage pass slung around my neck and Katy’s earplugs in, I watched their set from the side of stage with her, Katy and some crew. They were making magic on stage and Zayn’s voice was angelic.

When the countdown came on, Zayn left stage to kiss me at midnight in full view of everyone who could see into the wings. I wished that it made everything better but at that moment, I felt hollow. So hollow. Who cared if these fans cheered instead of booing me? I wanted to be in a dive bar with him, Bess, Vidya and Cass counting down where no one knew who I was. I wanted to be at a house party at Matt’s. I wanted to stay in my underpants at Aunt Wanda’s and order pizza and watch netflix. Somewhere where I wasn’t on display. Where any kiss wouldn’t be in a tabloid. Where every little thing I did didn’t fuel a new conspiracy theory about how I was the worst person alive. 

“You okay, babe?” Zayn asked on the drive back to the hotel. I was staring out the window catching glimpses of fireworks in the distance. I pretended not to hear him and tried to count the streetlights as they blurred past us.


	16. Chapter 16

I had spent more time crying in the last three days than I had all year. Clasping hands with Cassidy at Heathrow she whispered “Okay?”

I nodded.

“I miss you. Come back to Toronto soon, Soph.” Tears were shining in her eyes mirroring mine. I choked back a sob and a camera flash went off but I couldn’t tell whether it was a tourist or paparazzi. How paranoid had I become?

The disconnect between my life in Toronto and my life here in London was never more clear as I let Cassidy go and she ran towards the security line.

“Hey, let’s go home okay?” Aunt Wanda gently hip checked me to get my attention since I was looking at the floor, tears blurring the tiles together. She jingled the rental car keys and we got back inside the Smartcar to home.

Zayn was sitting in his black Navigator across the street when we pulled up. I groaned. 

“None of my business,” Aunt Wanda said. I tried to follow her, but she had cheekily locked the door behind her. I turned back around slowly. I hadn’t seen him for a couple days, and without a cellphone we hadn’t talked since Paris. 

“Will you please, please come for a ride with me?” He was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans despite the fact it was January and chilly, with flurries and light winds. 

“Where’s your coat?” I asked, perhaps a little resentfully.

“I needed to come see my girlfriend and wasn’t thinking about the weather. I also thought she would get in the car right away so I wouldn’t have to keep the window down.” Zayn replied smoothly. Feeling the smallest tinge of guilt, I climb into the car.

“You were really upset about Paris, weren’t you?” he said once we were a few blocks away.

Instead of answering him, I decided to tell him.

“Listen, all of this is crazy to me. I’m boring. Average. I was supposed to go to university and maybe snatch up an administrative job at a midsize company. I’ve never gotten this much attention, positive or negative. I’m not the nicest human being in the world but no one has ever hated me enough to throw something at me.”

“I was you a couple years ago. It wasn’t always like this. And then suddenly people were approaching me on the street until I can’t go out like that anymore.. I buy an ice cream bar and the bloody stock for Galaxy ice cream goes up. People feel really intensely about me and by association, about us. And I get it. It can be awful.” We were parked on a suburban street in the fading daylight. 

“I don’t want my life to be awful. I don’t want people taking pictures of me in the airport or putting out my trash. It’s bizarre to me. I never dreamt of being famous as a kid. I like the quiet life. I like lazy Sundays with you.”

Zayn clenched and reclenched his grip around the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry for that. But we can do less public appearances. I’ll ask Minds to see what she can do about coverage. I don’t want you to be upset.”

I leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips. A burst of warmth flooded me as I studied his profile. Here was this incredibly amazing boyfriend of mine who was trying to keep me happy.

“I love you, you know that.” It popped out before I could censor myself. I had felt it but never said it, worried I would come on too strong.

He gazed at me with a hint of wonder. “ I love you too, Sophie” He paused for a second and then scrambled for a bag in the backseat “I got you a phone to replace the one that was ruined in Paris.” Zayn pulled out a black iPhone box.

“I’ll teach you how to use it if you like.”

x

Going back to my old routine was stifling. I started to get annoyed with work and the customers more and more often. At least once a day now someone came in and surreptitiously tried to photograph me. Vidya chased them off, polite as you please, making up a store policy about cameras.

After negotiating, if I allowed myself to be photographed during Zayn’s birthday party, I was going to given a grace period by all the major celeb magazines in which they wouldn’t purchase any photos and my name would stop appearing alongside insinuations of my being a golddigging classless slag.

I’d gotten him a little leather cord bracelet with a silver clasp which had his initials engraved out of a tiny cramped shop in the Market that smelled of sandalwood and jasmine. I loved it right away and I hoped he would too. 

Playing the part, I wore a black silk sheath dress from Aunt Wanda, a new pair of nude pumps and shook my hair loose and fluffed it out big. I checked myself in the rearview of the black town car that had been sent for me to go to Seven Nightclub.

“Sophie Adeng, for Zayn Malik.” I tried my best to appear bored as the bouncer checked me but I could already see a few flashes going off, heightening my anxiety. There were at least 200 people here, so much for a small party.

“Zayn, I think your birthday present is here!” crowed Liam. I rolled my eyes goodnaturedly.

Zayn, who appeared tipsy and on his way to drunk, pulled me into the booth with the boys and nuzzled my neck. This was very public, and I was conscious of all the cameras.

“Happy birthday babe. Don’t mess up my hair.”

“Shhhh. It’s my birthday.” Zayn said, a little more loudly than necessary. This inebriated Zayn was sweet if overly affectionate and kept calling people over to meet me. I smiled, sipping on a single glass of champagne. Even the boys eventually came and left, bringing back bottles and shot glasses in the case of Louis, Niall and Harry; and food from Katy and Liam. 

At around 1 am when I started to get sleepy, Harry came to the table with an unreadable expression.

“Can we chat real quick?” He said. I looked at Zayn, who was animatedly telling a story to some friends from his hometown.

“Yeah, I meant you. C’mon.” Harry snapped.

I got to my feet, and followed Harry towards a hallway that led off into the more public part of the nightclub.

“What’s your problem?” His eyes are hard and flinty in the minimal light. I was taken aback by the bite in his voice, as if he’s talking to a stupid client rather than a friend’s girlfriend.

“Excuse me?” 

“I said ‘what is your problem?’ It’s Zayn’s fucking birthday and he’s sitting in a booth with you, because you’re scared of a few cameras and can’t even fake not looking miserable.” Harry, I realized, had been playing calm and collected but I could tell he was very agitated. 

“I’m not scared of anything.” It occurred to me I have denied the wrong part of that statement when it is too late. 

Harry’s laugh rings hollowly above the thumping bass.

“Let me tell you, love, you’d make a shite actress. This is his fucking life. What are you doing here if you hate all of this so much? Go home then.” 

I was furious. Absolutely furious. Zayn’s friend or not, he was about three seconds from being slapped when he walked away from me abruptly. I walked back to the booth. After examining the label, I picked up a nice bottle of tequila poured myself five shots and downed them in quick succession.

“It’s your birthday sweetheart. Let’s dance!” I grabbed Zayn’s hand and pulled him onto the dancefloor and pulled him in closer.

Tonight, I would just forget.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates.  
> Second last chapter, loves.
> 
> Tumblr [dotsandstripesxo]

Bonjour Magazine had a circulation of about 2 million readers. Popularized by their quizzes, they’d carved out a niche with silly lists and celebrity gossip mixed with longer more thoughtful pieces by ultrahip millennial writers. Even I’d read Bonjour once or twice and I was generally clueless.

I didn’t have to open the March issue to know that the title “Sophie Adeng: an exposé on Zayn’s girlfriend” was not going to be good. I’d grabbed it on the way to work from a stand outside the station, and I read it quietly in the back of TeaWorld while John went through half a pack of cigarettes in the front of the store. I could not be bothered. 

It was all laid out in a ten page article. My mom’s cancer diagnosis. How she hadn’t told me for two years and there were endless extra shifts she pretended to pick up while money was as tight as ever. My insistence on renting an apartment even though I lived in the city because I wanted the university experience. The dollar amount the insurance company, banks and pension had put on Elizabeth Adeng’s life. The fact I hadn’t settled her estate entirely because I ran away.

I was hollowed out completely. I flicked the page and the story went on.

An ex boyfriend who talked about how I’d always been a bit standoffish to everyone. A picture of me and Zayn at Trafalgar Square. A childhood friend who told them about how I used to lie as a kid about how my father was an FBI agent. My outfit on that first official date with Zayn. I had thrown myself on my mother’s casket and Aunt Wanda had restrained me--that was there too.

I wanted to cry so badly. But I’d cried so much lately there was nothing left. I was on autopilot, ripping off my apron and picking up my purse.

“Hey. Why aren’t you in front?” John began. I looked at him dead in the eye. 

“I’m quitting. I’ve had it with this place.” Not a tirade, just resignation. Because it was John or maybe because it was retail, he shrugged. 

“Get on out then,” he said to my retreating back.

Almost on queue, my iPhone rang as I was walking briskly to the station, head bent and in a daze.

“Come to the office immediately. We’re on Derry. Tell me your location and we will send a car.” Mindy sounded even cooler than usual, taking my info promptly and then hanging up.

When I saw a black Navigator pull up, I hoped against hope it might be Zayn. But an elderly man greeted me instead and I climbed in the car. 

I had never been to the studio, and I was expecting something more flashy--white walls, steel girders and glass skyscraper maybe. But in reality, it was a four storey brick building with an unassuming exterior and only a silver metal logo for Columbia records to distinguish it. I was guided into an empty boardroom.

A woman in a black pantsuit strode in flanked by three men, all in boring navy pinstripe of the sort favoured by bankers. She was tall, Amazonian even, with pale skin, black hair in a chignon and brown eyes.

“It’s Mindy,” she said. But hearing her voice would have done that for me.

“Where’s Zayn?” I asked. She ignored me.

“Sophie, I need to know who had access to your information. There are privacy concerns for my client.” Mindy began.

Something in my expression must have warned her to switch tactics because she cut herself off. 

“I understand you’ve been very upset by the Bonjour article. They must have talked to people you know to get that information. Do you know who it might have been? Have you had anything go missing of recent? Did anyone know your passwords?”

I took a steadying breath and recited information as I could recall it. Tony Aguilar was probably the boyfriend, a jerk I had slept with when such a thing was novel to me in university. The childhood friend could be any number of people really, I was not a popular kid in elementary. My mother’s funeral had 500 attendees including many friends, anyone could have seen that or told someone.

“What about in London? You had your friend Cassidy visit. Did she maybe say anything to someone?”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t Cassidy. I told her everything but she just wouldn’t. She knew what coming to London meant for me.” 

“Who else?” she prodded. One of the lawyer types with her gave me a small reassuring smile.

“I work with two girls I’m friends with. Vidya Singh and Beatrix Keswick. I have a couple other friends but they are mostly Vidya’s friends from uni and I don’t know them all that well.”

One of the lawyers, a waify looking South Asian gentleman, brought out a couple photos. Some were from my old cellphone, which I had previously thought was in a trashcan in Paris. He pointed at one in particular.

“Sophie, this is a picture of your outfit from a date. Did you take it?”

I stood up immediately. My heart was pounding in my chest. At first when Mindy spoke, the rush of blood in my head was so loud that it sounded like she was underwater.

“Do you know who took this photo?” Mindy asked, probably for the second time. 

“I think it was my Aunt Wanda,” I lied smoothly. 

“Ms. Adeng, this is very important. Zayn’s reputation--” I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence because I had dashed out the door at full speed. Tears were falling thick and fast, while inside I thought, I guess I can still cry.


	18. Chapter 18

I could have called her but I didn’t. 

I wanted to ask so many questions but there were no easy answers. There was nothing satisfying to be found here, but I persisted, walking in the bitter cold with a far too thin jacket and leggings until my feet grew numb inside their sneakers. My phone went off again and again and again. 

I had never been to her house, but it shouldn’t have surprised me when I wandered into a Cold War era apartment block, all grey concrete and bars. The kind of place I would have avoided in Toronto at night but during the day was more depressing than dangerous. Apartment 5F was easy enough to find. I pounded on the door.

Bess answered the door in her pyjamas. She was visibly startled and tried to shut the door, but I wedged my foot in.

“How long were you tipping off the press?” 

She began to sob and the sight infuriated me. I pulled at the door until it was open and I was standing in her foyer, shivering. 

“Were we even friends? How much? How fucking much to let them invade my privacy and ruin my life?” There were tears running down my face as well, angry and hot. 

“It--It wasn’t like that in the beginning,” Bess hiccupped. “I didn’t think it would hurt. I am your friend Sophie, it just seemed--I didn’t think it would...I’m sorry.” 

She trailed off and the silence hung heavy between us. All of my anger spent itself in a sudden rush of hot air.

“Never speak to me again. We’re not friends. We never were,” I said so quietly I could barely even hear myself.. 

Her flat was too small, and my chest was tight and I felt like I was going to be sick if I stayed a second longer. I turned around and ran.

x

Tired of my phone buzzing in my pocket and kind of lost, I finally picked up my phone.

“Sophie, where are you? Your Aunt Wanda called me panicking. You haven’t been picking your phone or answering texts. Your work said you quit.” Zayn seemed upset but quiet. Too quiet. 

I sighed a little and sat on a stoop and found an address to tell him while he hopped in his car. Instead of the Navigator, Zayn was in his uncle’s red Honda Civic, dressed haphazardly in jeans and a t-shirt that was full of holes. I smiled a little for him.

He drove for a few minutes before saying anything.

“You know who did it. “ Zayn said. It was a statement of fact.

“She convinced Cassidy to give her my old phone to repair it, I think. The rest was just...things I’d told her.” He took his eyes off the road but my mouth was set in a hard line.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He took a hand off the gear shift to squeeze my hand in his. “But you should have given her name to Mindy. Who is it? If we can prove she got the information illegally, there might be a way to spin this so it goes away.” His tone is so hopeful it crushed what was left in my chest.

But there was a niggling feeling of doubt that hadn’t gone away. I was far from forgiving, but Bess still had a family she was trying to take care of in her own imperfect way. If we were counting lying by omission, here I was doing it again for the second time today. 

“It’s never going to go away. She did something wrong, yeah? But starting another media circus around her will only make it worse. I don’t want that.” I mumbled slowly.

“What are you saying?”

“I just don’t think I can do this. I don’t want to keep doing this.” I said.

We are parked in front of Aunt Wanda’s house. Zayn shut the car off and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. 

“This is it for me. Day in. Day out. I trade it all to sing across the world. I don’t like it all the time, but that’s what it is. Being known is the least of it.” Zayn’s voice is gravelly and low. 

“I am no one, Zayn. I have no one. Not really. I can’t. This is too much for me.” The words spilled out one after the other, but each one felt right even though I thought this was the worst thing I have ever done. 

I crooked a finger under his chin and kissed him one last time. 

“I did love you, Zayn.” And that’s the third time today that I lied, because walking back into the house, I knew I was still very much in love with him. 

Aunt Wanda just crumbled when I arrived home. She pulled me into her arms and sobbed for me and with me. 

“I heard. I’m so sorry, me babea.”

We talked late into the night, making plans and breaking them until I was a little calmer. The next morning, I texted Mindy and in uncharacteristically manipulative way, suggested the favour she owed me was to make sure this ended here and forget about the photos. Aunt Wanda brought me a cup of jasmine oolong in the morning and offered me her thoughts.

“I have friends all across Europe, Sophie. Why don’t you leave London and go somewhere? I called my travel agent this morning. Pick a place.”

A day later, less than six months after I had arrived at Heathrow, I was here again with my entire life on a carry on, a rail pass and a one way ticket to Berlin. All the keepsakes from my time in London were being shipped to Cassidy--the iPhone, ticket stubs and photos though Aunt Wanda gave me a spare key just in case. I was running again, but I was beginning to believe I really couldn’t help myself. Besides, what was there to stay for?

I was in a cafe in Amsterdam in a thick haze of marijuana smoke and strong coffee a month later when I heard his voice again. 

“And what about that Sophie Adeng?” the interviewer asked. “I’ve heard your new track Summer Love was written about her.”

“We dated but it was never serious. She’s travelling now. I wish her all the best. But really, I’m just excited about our newest World Tour.” Zayn laughed and it was like a knife to the heart. I did this to myself. I reached over another patron for the remote and changed the channel quickly.

This was it. We were done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me babea = my daughter
> 
> 4k+ views, 3 sites, dozens of comments, losing 3 betas (mostly because I'm daft), an out of control plot bunny and 4 months later, I'm finally done Raw Sugar.
> 
> Thank you all so very very much. This was the best time I could have had writing fic again.
> 
> Watch out for Burnt Sugar. See my tumblr for previews and extra, and maybe to request drabbles while I write a bit more.
> 
> Tumblr [dotsandstripesxo]
> 
> Love, 
> 
> Tee


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